So turn your ears, you musicians, to silence. Because they only come out when it's quiet, their tails brushing over your eyelids... Oh, wake up, sleepers, and rise from the dead! Or the fur that they shed that's gonna lay on your bed, in a delicate orange-ish cinnamon red...ah, but I don't need this! I don't need this! For I have my loves...I don't need this.
1 comment:
Beautiful.
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